


A Chance Encounter

by LivingInAnotherUniverse



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Battle of Five Armies, Dwarves, Elves, Gen, Hobbits, Mirkwood, Rivendell, The Lonely Mountain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivingInAnotherUniverse/pseuds/LivingInAnotherUniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins is stuck inside the Elvenking's palace when he meets a mysterious Elf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wanderings

Legolas Greenleaf wandered the halls of his father aimlessly. Thranduil, the Elvenking, was more worried about the dwarves in his dungeon than the return of his eldest son.

The Elven Prince had come back to the Halls of Mirkwood, expecting, at the very least, an inkling of love, or some recognition. Either would have worked for the young Prince. Neither was given.

There were invaders in the trees of Mirkwood, thirteen dwarves following the Elf Path, whose entrance is the Forest Gate. They had strayed off the path, following and trying to attack the company of Elves that were feasting there. 

Legolas shook his head. He had seen the dwarves, all thirteen of them. They were foreign to him; their names were not the names that he recognized from his studies. Most of them did not speak, only glowered and muttered as he passed. 

So Legolas wandered the halls of his father, as aimlessly as an errant breeze.


	2. A Quick Aim

Bilbo Baggins was not paying attention when he ran into a solid mass of elf flesh. He had been to busy trying to find Thorin Oakenshield among the tunnels of the Elvenking’s cavernous palace. 

The Burglar, that is, Bilbo, tried not to squeak as he fell backwards. On his rear, he gazed up at the elf.

The elf’s blue eyes darted around as his hands darted for his bow and an arrow. He wondered what could have possibly bumped into his knees as he raised the weapon.

“Show yourself, or I’ll shoot,” the blond elf said quietly. 

The little hobbit really did squeak now, and tried to back away. But his famous luck was not on his side in this—a torch caught his shadow. 

The elf aimed. Bilbo squeaked again, taking off his magic ring, revealing himself to Legolas. 

“Mercy, good elf lord!” The hobbit held his hands up in surrender. “I mean no harm to you nor your kin!”

The elf did not lower his bow. “Dwarf you are not; I have not seen your kind. What are you?” He kept his voice low. 

“Me?” the little creature asked anxiously. “I’m a Hobbit, from the Shire! From Bag End, in the village of Hobbiton. My name is Bilbo Baggins.”

The elf lowered his bow slowly, gauging the Hobbit’s reaction. Bilbo sighed in relief. 

“Master Elf, I really must be on my way.” Mr. Baggins turned to leave when the elf said something. “I’m sorry, Master Elf. I did not hear what you said.”


	3. The Hidden Nature of Hobbits

“I said,” Legolas repeated, crouching down at the hobbit’s eye level. “I said that you had better stay hidden. Most will not hesitate as I did.” The hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, nodded gratefully, meeting Legolas’s eyes. 

“I am called Legolas, if you were wondering, little Bilbo Baggins. Legolas Greenleaf.” Legolas decided to keep his parentage hidden, the hobbit would not care for titles and honorifics. 

“An honor. But I really must be going.”

Legolas stood and watched as Bilbo went down the tunnel and suddenly disappeared. He wondered if that was a trait of all hobbits, the ability to turn invisible. That would require some research.

Legolas knew little of the inhabitants of the Shire, only that they existed, and they were a peaceable folk that harvested fine pipe weed. Something Legolas had tried once, and was not too keen to try again. 

Again, Legolas began to wander aimlessly as he was before such an odd, chance encounter. He found himself at the closed doors to the largest room in the Elvenking’s hall. 

The Throne Room. 

The Room itself was designed to be a memento to the Elfish race. Near the doors, tapestries detailed the beginnings of time and the emergence of the elves of old. Countless kings and deeds were recorded on the walls of the Great Room. Two thirds of the ways into the Room were the tapestries detailing the events of the War of the Last Alliance and the siege on Barad-dûr. The Defeat of Sauron had an entire tapestry all to itself. 

Legolas was temped to go in, but did not. He had no desire to speak with his father as of yet. He had research to do. Research on the nature of Hobbits.


	4. In A Library

When you are a hobbit, stuck in a cave with really no way out, there’s just not much you can do. The encounter with the Elf Legolas Greenleaf left poor Bilbo in a bit of a state of curiosity. 

Who wouldn’t be curious? Bilbo thought to himself as he followed the tall elf though the twisting halls. After all, I just met an elf that wasn’t so frivolous as the ones in Rivendell.

If there was one thing this hobbit could do well, it was sneak. Not even the elf heard him, and if he did, Legolas paid no mind to it. 

In fact, Legolas was too deep in his own thoughts to pay any attention at all to the small creature invisible on his heels. 

Together they entered the great library of Mirkwood. 

It was not nearly the size of Lord Elrond’s library in Rivendell, but it was bigger then any of Men’s or Dwarves combined. Scrolls and books stacked high from floor to ceiling, comfortable chairs with many pillows and soft rugs under their feet. In the background, the lone librarian whistled while he approached. 

“My Lord Prince. How might I be at service?” the librarian asked. He did not bow, like Bilbo had expected as soon as he heard the title “Prince”. Instead, the thin, tall librarian smiled. 

“Amandil, my good friend,” the prince said. “How fare your children?”

“My inky children fare well. I’m dusting the treatises on ancient herbal medicines. Would you like to have a look?” 

Bilbo noticed the slight deranged look in Amandil’s eyes. He seemed positively bonkers. But despite the look in his eyes, Amandil knew exactly where to find all of his ink and paper children.

“No, I must decline on your offer. But there is something you can do for me. Do you have anything concerning the nature of … hobbits?”

Bilbo’s invisible eyes widened. Why would Legolas want to read books about hobbits? There wasn’t much to them, after all. 

“Hobbits?” Amandil asked. “Ah, yes. Peculiar little creatures, hobbits are. Small, with furry feet and large bellies. Not unlike vile dwarves, but less hairy and more concerned with food. Ha! Yes, yes, I have some books on hobbits. Right here, follow me!”

With that the elven librarian lead the way down a long hallway formed by shelves upon shelves filled with every sort of literary work known to the living world. Occasionally Amandil would run a long finger over a scroll or two, then examine his finger for dust. Very rarely would he grumble aver the amount of dust, but it happened. Legolas and Bilbo, still invisible, followed silently. 

Suddenly Amandil turned and went to a row of books at the end of one shelf. “Here is everything I have on hobbits. Why, my lord, are you so interested in the little creatures, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Suffice it to say I met one on my travels. Many thanks, my lord,” Legolas answered, smiling slightly. 

Amandil grumbled and went back to his dusting.


	5. Encounters with the Angry

Legolas was more confused by what he read then when he had started. 

There were only five books concerning hobbits, and all of them contradicted each other. The Elf wished he could find that little hobbit again to question him. 

Bilbo, standing on the table beside the elf, laughed silently over the lack of reliable information in the books, as well as the visible frustration in the blond elf’s features. 

Legolas stood up at the sound of Amandil’s voice. The sudden movement had startled the little, invisible hobbit, causing him to flail and crash to the ground. Legolas looked down and smiled, then stuck out his foot and stood on the edge of Bilbo’s cloak. The hobbit flinched, knowing that he had been caught, and knowing that the elf’s boot was going to leave marks on his clothes. 

It wasn’t just Amandil’s voice that startled the elven princeling. It was the voice of Thranduil, the Elvenking. He was looking for his son. 

Legolas glanced down at the invisible hobbit, his stomach twisting with nervousness. “Go,” he whispered, lifting his foot. “Behind the shelf or under the chair. Quickly!” The little hobbit complied faster then you could say “second breakfast”. 

“Ah. There you are, my son. You’ve been avoiding me.”

Legolas bowed. “Father. I beg your forgiveness on that front. I have been researching some queer creature I met on my travels.”

“Oh?” The Elvenking raised his eyebrows, smiling. “Of what creature do you speak?”

“Hobbits, Father. The information in these books are next to useless,” Legolas said, gesturing to the table where the five books lay in a neat pile. “And Amandil knows little about them, only that they like to eat.” 

Thranduil laughed quietly. “Where in Middle Earth did you meet a hobbit? They very very rarely leave the Shire in the far West.” 

Legolas took just a second too long to formulate his answer. “Deep in the Wild, my Lord. He was fleeing wargs.”

“You spoke to him?”

“Briefly. Only to state his business and race.” 

“Hmmm. And your companions saw this hobbit too?”

“No, Father. It was in the dead of night. I kept watch; my companions slept.”

“Hmmm. I see. And you killed this warg, I assume. How did you do it without waking your companions?”

Legolas closed his eyes, sighing. “Does it matter, Father?”

The Elvenking shrugged. “I suppose not. I was merely attempting to talk with you, Legolas. We have not really spoken in quite a long time.”

“Perhaps we can talk another time. I’d be happy to have a lengthy discussion with you. At a latter time.” Legolas bowed again. 

“Perhaps.” The Elvenking gave his only son a glare and stalked away. 

Legolas sighed; releasing the tight muscles in his shoulders and back. No one sees how tense conversations between the Elvenking and his son gets, because they both hide it incredibly well. 

Legolas began to muse. When did this whole thing begin? Why did it seem like Thranduil hated him? He had done nothing to displease him. He was a warrior, close to being the best archer in all of Mirkwood. He was fierce, brave, and loyal. What more did his father want from him? Was it because his mother, whose name Thranduil refuses to speak of to this day, left the Elvenking for the Undying Lands? Was it because his father never wanted a son, just a hoard of gold, silver, and precious stones to rival that of the Dwarves of Erebor? 

Legolas did not understand, and found himself afraid at the concept of asking his father. 

A small tap on the Princeling’s knee reminded him of the hobbit hiding under the table. “Come,” Legolas whispered. “We’ll go somewhere more private.”


	6. A Game

They Elven prince did not go to any obvious private place. There were portions of the forests of Mirkwood that few knew about, and even fewer dared venture. But they were safe places, provided that you kept your voice down. 

When Legolas was a reasonable distance from the entrance into the Elvenking’s caverns, the little Hobbit appeared at the Elf’s heels. 

“Where are we going?” The Burglar asked nervously, tucking something into his vest pocket. “Please tell me there won’t be any giant spiders.”

Legolas looked down at Bilbo, raising his eyebrows. “I doubt that there will be any giant spiders this close to our stronghold. And if that is not the case, well, that’s why we’re both armed, yes?” 

“I suppose so. Though I’m not much of a fighter,” Bilbo looked at his sword at his side. “I’ve only used it twice, maybe three times. I’m not that great.”

Legolas just smiled, approaching their destination with quicker, lighter steps than normal. 

Of course, Bilbo thought to himself. ‘Somewhere private’ has to be up an enormous tree. As if there haven’t been anything bad happening whilst in a tree. Bilbo remembered the warg meeting and their rescue by the Eagles, and shuddered slightly. These were not good memories. Not good memories at all. 

Legolas gave little Bilbo a hoist into the first level of branches, then proceeded to climb to a well shaded fork in the limbs of the oak. The hobbit was not as quick, but he got there eventually. 

The two pointed-eared creatures stared at each other for a moment before the Elf broke the silence. 

“Let us play a game.”


	7. Evil Questions

“A game?” the Hobbit squeaked. “What type of game do you speak of, Master Elf?” 

Bilbo remembered the last game he had partaken in with a creature that was not his race. The creature Gollum, who had tried and failed to trick him with riddles in the darkness. 

“Not really a game, more of an agreement,” Legolas clarified. “I ask a question, you answer and ask me a question. It is fair, that way.”

Bilbo sighed in relief. 

“But no lies, mind you,” the elf continued. “I can tell if you lie.” 

Bilbo nodded, smiling. “May I start?”

“You already have,” Legolas replied, smirking. Bilbo groaned, annoyed at the fair elf’s trickery. “My turn. Why are you in the forests of Mirkwood?”

“Travelling. Why do you care?”

“Curiosity. You said you were a Hobbit.” Legolas paused, unsure of how to phrase his question. “What exactly is a Hobbit?” 

Bilbo laughed quietly. “You did not find much in those books of yours, I see. We Hobbits are Shire-folk, from the west. We’re mortal, with long lives. Not as long as dwarves, but longer than Men. Amandil said you were a Prince?”

Legolas sighed, closing his eyes. His hands wandered over the embroidery stitched on the edge of his tunic. “Unfortunately, yes. My father is the Elvenking, Thranduil. Where are you headed on your journey?”

Bilbo paused. “Somewhere. Why ‘unfortunately’?” 

“My father is not a exactly a caring creature. He is still wrought with grief over the disappearance of my mother, his mate. Since then, he has pushed everyone who was remotely close to him away.” He paused, shaking his head, not meeting the hobbits eyes. “It’s not important. Who are you traveling with? The road becomes more dangerous every passing hour, especially for someone of your stature.”

Bilbo was in an especially trusting mood; this was the most he had talked since Bombur fell into the river. “I have traveled with Gandalf the Gray, and a fair amount of dwarves. Stinky lot, if you ask me. You are not the first elven realm we have traveled through. What makes you so different from the elves of Rivendell?”

Legolas chuckled. “Difference in practice and culture comes from living in isolation. The peoples of the Greenwood have not talked with the elves of Rivendell or Lothlorien in many a year. So, you have seen Gandalf. Where is he, if not with you?”

“He has often disappeared from our company.”

Elf and Hobbit continued to talk until the wee hours of the morning. It was warm still, though Lavasor, Harvest Day and the last great feast before winter, were fast approaching. 

Legolas told legends, stories of his childhood, and histories of great men and elves. He confirmed Gandalf’s mention of how the game of golf was invented by Bandobras Took, the Bullroarer, seeing has the elf had witnessed it. He taught the hobbit how to properly hold his blade, newly named Sting, and some Sindarin words that might prove useful to him. 

Bilbo answered so many questions about Hobbits and their culture that he was sure Legolas could easily become a Hobbit if he were a bit shorter and put away his weapons. He talked about Gandalf and Thorin and the rest of the dwarves, and tried to put his experience at Rivendell into words that could never do the city justice, for the elf had never seen Imladris and was curious. 

Dawn formed over the distant treetops, turning the sky red. 

“The sky is always red these days,” Legolas murmured. “Blood has been spilled this night, and every night for too long a time.” 

“Your forests are dangerous,” Bilbo sighed. “And Gandalf mentioned an evil stirring in the south, in a place called Dol Guldor.”

“The Hill of Sorcery. Yes, an evil stirs there, known but unknown to us. It has been there since I was a small child. It grows stronger, though, a blight upon our woods.”

The Burglar tried to disguise his panic at the mention of the evil growing stronger. “Gandalf mentioned a name … I think he called this evil ‘The Necromancer’.”

“Odd.” Legolas frowned. “This evil is far older than any living race upon Middle Earth. A follower of Morgoth Bauglir, probably. But that could be any of Iluvatar’s creations,” Legolas mused. “Another question for another time. The doors of the cavern-palace will open soon. I must go back before someone wonder where I have been.”

Bilbo bowed his head in resignation. He did not want to go back into the stone palace, for many a week he had longed to smell the breeze and feel the grass under his feet. “Yes, we must go back.” 

Perhaps Thorin and Bilbo could make progress on the nonexistent plan to get out of the Elvenking’s dungeons with the new knowledge Bilbo had of elves.


	8. The Escape and Arrival

It was a few weeks after the first questioning game that clever, lucky Bilbo managed to get all of his Dwarven friends out of the dungeons of the Elvenking. 

Legolas was the only one that was not surprised. 

In fact, when he heard the news, he stared at his father in the crowded throne hall and laughed. 

It was a soft laugh, more like a chuckle, really. Quiet satisfaction and a hint of pride entered the Elf Prince’s voice as he responded to his enraged, pacing father. 

“So the Dwarves managed to outsmart you, Father?” Legolas called softly, before moving to the center of the room. “I’m surprised it took them this long, especially since you made no move to try and break them, as you have done in the past. You have gotten lazy.” All this was said in the softest calmest voice Legolas could muster. 

“What did you say?! Do you mean to insult me?” Thranduil screamed at his son. “How is it my fault those Dwarves escaped? The guards should have been watching them!”

“Then it is still your fault, Ada. You invited everyone, everyone to the Lavasor. They talked to me, the guards on duty. They were resentful of their fellows who went to the feast. They took your finest wine and drank two barrels between the three of them. Could you have let all who wanted to come actually come to the harvest feast? There were those among us that did not wish to attend, and did not. For example, myself. I was not inclined to celebrate this year, for reasons I will keep to myself.” 

Legolas sighed, remembering. He had been meaning to find Bilbo, his little Hobbit friend. But he could not find him anywhere, until he came upon the three drunken guards. There he had found the hobbit and all thirteen dwarves stuck in barrels. Bilbo had stared at the elf, startled, but Legolas had smiled, and assisted in moving the barrels out into the river. It was the least he could do. 

Thranduil turned to the rest of his court, silver hair fighting to escape from under his leaf crown. His blood red robes hung on every line on the Elvenking’s slight form. “Who among you would have volunteered to stand watch over thirteen vile dwarves, while there was feasting and merry-making to be had?” 

There was a pause, then a grumble of two individuals. Both from the back of the tapestry-covered hall. 

Amandil the librarian stepped forward reluctantly, angry at being deceived by the elven prince. His companion was more notable, however. 

Gandalf the Grey. 

Gandalf himself had only just arrived; the shock of his appearance covered all of the fair faces in the fall. Legolas grinned after recovering from his initial shock, knowing the Maia would be able to placate and calm his frustrated father. 

The prince went up to Gandalf, his smile relieved. “Gandalf! What brings you to the realm of the elves of Mirkwood?”

The Maia smiled, but did not look at Legolas, instead stared at the Elvenking. “Legolas. It has been many a century since I have seen your young face. You have grown much since then.” 

“I was still a youth when you last wandered these woods. And you are still up to your riddles – you never answered my question. What brings you to our halls?”

“My concerns are not the concerns of one such as you, young one,” the Wizard said, never taking his eyes off Thranduil. Legolas raised his eyebrows, but let it slide. There were nay tales of the grey wizard that roamed Middle Earth. All included him being extremely secretive. 

“Thranduil Elvenking, you and I must speak. I have urgent news and questions that require your immediate attention.” 

“Come. We can speak privately.” 

The Elvenking had quickly regained his composure as soon as the wizard had revealed himself, and was not a calm and courteous host. How quickly the anger towards his son could disappear in the presence of one more powerful than himself. For that was what the Wizard Gandalf was … more powerful and more ancient then Thranduil. 

Beings like Mithrandir demanded respect, and that respect was given freely. 

The court of Thranduil dispersed quietly, unsure of what would happen next. Legolas stood in the center of the throne room, still as a mountain. 

It was not long before Gandalf emerged and motioned to the princeling to follow him.


	9. Lake Town

With an exhausted sigh, Gandalf sat in one of the padded chairs in Amandil’s library, motioning for Legolas to join him. “Your father took quite a long time to convince that I have his best intentions in mind.”

Legolas raised his eyebrows, silent, tilting his head inquisitively. 

“Smaug has woken. The Dragon will eventually leave Erebor and destroy all life in his path.”

“How do you know?” Legolas asked sharply. 

Gandalf raised silver eyebrows in disbelief. “Think. It is the nature of the race of Dragons to destroy, not create, as it is with all other races. Elves, Men, Dwarves, Hobbits, even the Valar – they all seek to create. Dragons are the destroyers.”

“Smaug has slept for the past sixty years. Why wake now?” Legolas was still confused. 

“You and the rest of your race have seen it, and yet refuse to understand!” Gandalf’s face clenched, as if in great pain, or annoyance. Legolas could not tell which. “Evil is rising. Sauron is growing stronger. Smaug, should he side with Mordor, will prove to be a dangerous enemy.”

“Smaug has been a dangerous enemy since his birth. Why do you think we did not aid the Dwarves when the dragon took Erebor? It was not because of our prejudice for their race, though that may have played a part …” Legolas’ voice trailed off, shaking his head. “Thranduil did not wish to risk any more lives of his people aiding an enemy we would not have been able to defeat. We lost many in the siege of Barad-dûr. That battle has left the Elvenking wary of any conflict.”

“I am aware.” Mithrandir sighed. “Which is why it took so long to convince your father to do what I’ve asked of him.”

“Which is what?” Legolas queried, wary. 

“That he and his people must march on Erebor, to protect the Dwarves from Smaug, should he wake any time soon. If he has not already woken.”

A week passed. 

Rumors abounded among the elves of Mirkwood. Some said that Smaug would soon wake, and destroy Mirkwood, other said that those who believed that were false and should be locked up. 

Gandalf spent countless hours in the Library. Amandil became a close friend of his, often sharing stories and pipe weed.

Thranduil did not speak to anyone, angry with the Maia and his plan. 

It was not long before the birds came to whisper in the ears of Elves. They told of fire and destruction, of a flying beast that struck fear in the hearts of all. They spoke of dying ponies and foul breath. They spoke of the rumored death of Dwarves. They spoke of the destruction of Esgaroth, the town by the lake. The spoke of Bard the Bowman, the new “king” of Laketown, and his arrow that pierced the breast of Smaug the Destroyer. 

The Dragon Smaug was dead, and all rejoiced. 

Within a day, an army rode out of the palace of the Elvenking. 

They rode to war, to claim the treasure of Erebor before the men of Laketown could.


	10. Helping

Legolas felt a twinge of nervousness as he rode away from the great host of the elves of Mirkwood, even as twenty-five of his companions followed him. But that companionship did not dispel the nervosa gathering in his gut. 

The Prince did not get nervous easily.

Thranduil Elvenking was halfway to the Lonely Mountain before word of the exact amount of destruction Smaug had wreaked upon Esgaroth upon the Long Lake. It would take much maneuvering and time to come to the aid of the race of Men, who were the Elvenking’s allies, from where they had erected their camp. They would come, eventually. 

So Thranduil sent his son and a regiment of his troops to go to the aid of Bard and the Master in his stead.

Battle situations, court politics, arguing with his father – these were activities he had become accustomed to, and they did not make him nervous any longer. Legolas did not know what to expect in Esgaroth, he was wary, and because of that, he was nervous.

The sight of a burned town and a rotting dragon corpse was one he had tried to prepare himself for, but was still shocking. 

Legolas had been on a patrol on the southern edge of the Mirkwood the last time the Dragon had been seen by elven eyes, sixty years ago. He had never laid eyes on Smaug the Destroyer before that day, as he lay gone from this world. Half in the lake on his back, his coat of jewels glistening in the sun, dull red scales reflecting the waves. The puncture-wound of Bard the Bowman’s Black Arrow was still evident, slim and small in comparison of Smaug’s terrifying form.

One of the Elves accompanying Legolas, a she-elf by the name of Inwë, was definitely not prepared for the smell of the dead Dragon, and proceeded to expel her morning bread and tea. Legolas was holding her hair back as she cleaned herself up when a Man who could be none other than Bard the Bowman rode to greet the company of Mirkwood Elves.

“Who leads you?” Bard asked, pointedly not looking at the two elves standing off to the side. 

“I do,” Legolas smiled up at the Bowman. He looked down at the Prince with a puzzled look. “I am Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil the Elvenking, Prince of the Woodland Realm. You must forgive my companion, Inwë, here, she was not truly prepared for the smell.” 

Bard laughed. “Not very many people are. No forgiveness is needed. What brings you here, Legolas Greenleaf? I thought you and your people were headed to the Mountain. That is, that’s what our last report was from trusted sources.”

Legolas ignored the mention of sources, for they could only mean spies, and that was not why the Prince was here, standing in the mud of the Long Lake, staring at a Dragon corpse.

“We have heard you rumors of the desolation Smaug wreaked upon your city. We few have come to help rebuild, if you will have us,” the Elven Prince said, leaving Inwë’s side and taking the bridle of his roan horse in hand. “It would be our pleasure to aid you and reaffirm our alliances.”

“Thranduil sent you?” Bard seemed skeptical. 

“Yes. And my father will be joining us in a day or two, for he sincerely wishes to speak with both you and the Master of Esgaroth.”

“Then let me welcome you and companions, Legolas Greenleaf. We have much work to do.”


	11. Battles Won

Many days passed between the death of Smaug and the Battle of Five Armies. 

The Alliance formed between the three races of Men, Elves, and Dwarves was tenuous at best. With Thorin and his nephews gone from this world, the Dwarves went into mourning. 

Legolas went to search out the Hobbit, for last he had heard, the little one was alive and well. The Elf found the Burglar at the edge of Dale, where he stood alone. The sun had not yet risen, and the stars shone brightly. Legolas could, if he listened carefully, hear them singing their praises Iluvatar. 

“If my eyes do not deceive me, there stands the Hobbit I met once in the woods of my home,” Legolas murmured, smiling down at the small Shireling. 

Bilbo jumped before replying: “And if my eyes do not deceive me, there stands the Elf who set a company of Dwarves free from under his father’s very nose. Greetings, Legolas Thranduillion.”

“And the same to you, Bilbo Baggins. I trust you survived the battle with all appendages intact?” Legolas gave the little one a cursory glance. 

“I did. And yourself?” Bilbo seemed nervous. 

“A few bruises, nothing more.” 

They stood in stony silence for a few minutes. Legolas noticed a heavy weight seemed to press on Bilbo’s shoulders. Something had changed over the past few weeks, that much the Elven Prince could tell. 

“I’m sorry about your friends,” Legolas murmured. 

“They will rest in the Halls of Aluë. They are at peace.” 

“You will be going back to your home soon, I suppose?” 

Bilbo looked at the ground, head low. “I leave at dawn. War camps are no place for the Gentle Folk. Some of the Dwarves have offered to escort me back.”

Legolas nodded, though Bilbo did not see it. “You’ll be in safe hands. They fought bravely, and well.”

Bilbo looked up, meeting the eyes of the Elf. “What is next for you, then? Is all well with you and your father? He and I met, in the negotiations.”

“It is the same as ever.”

“My apologies.”

They stood in silence until the sun rose over the Long Lake. With a sigh, Bilbo Baggins turned away without a backwards glance or a simple farewell. 

Legolas smiled. 

He would see the little Hobbit again. Of that, he was certain.


	12. Fellowship

Many years had passed since Legolas Thranduilion lay eyes on one of the Shirefolk, and now there were five wandering the halls of Lord Elrond. 

The four youngest were bright and merry, with excited eyes and hopeful hearts. But one, Frodo, carried the heaviest burden, Legolas knew, and also the smallest. 

He saw in Frodo’s eyes the same look that Bilbo had had when they had shared the dawn together after the Battle of Five Armies. Legolas, had a hunch as to why they shared the same distrustful and weary eyes, and Gandalf served only to confirm it. Bilbo had carried the One Ring out of the Goblin tunnels, and carried it through the battle and back home again. It was only through the constant presence of the Necromancer that the Elves of Mirkwood did not sense the Ring when it passed into their halls. 

His senses had grown to accustomed to the feeling of evil to think that such power had been so close. 

Not long after the Council had concluded and the Fellowship founded, Legolas went searching for the fifth and oldest Hobbit in Imladris. 

Bilbo sat in the sun, eyes closed and a pipe and cane in his withered hands. His hair had grown almost as silver as an Elf’s own head. He looked content. 

Silently, Legolas sat next to the Shireling and smiled. “The sun shines brightest here. I can see why you like it.”

Without opening his eyes, Bilbo muttered: “Pesky elf. It took you long enough to find me.”

Legolas laughed. “Bilbo Baggins. I only just arrived, and have been in meetings since then.”

“It seems to be a habit of yours.” Bilbo turned his still bright blue eyes on the Elven Prince wryly. 

“Duty before friendship,” Legolas murmured. 

“Ha! And some sort of friendship this is. You are set to leave in the morning, along with my nephew and his friends? ”

“Aye. Them, Gandalf, two Men, and a Dwarf.” Legolas did not hesitate to show a small amount of disgust at the idea, though he smiled afterward. It was all in fun. 

“Gimli, son of Gloin. Gloin has come to visit me as well. His beard has grown even longer since I knew him.”

“That is what hair does, from what I understand of it.”

“He misses Thorin, and Fili and Kili. They were so young … I hope my book does them justice.”

“You are writing a book?”

“ ‘There and Back Again: A Hobbit’s Tale’ by yours truly.”

Aragorn’s voice carried from the hall, calling for the Elf’s assistance. 

Legolas knelt in front of the little Hobbit. “I must leave you now, but know this, Master Baggins. We will see each other again. I will keep your nephew safe from all who wish to harm him, for the world continues to underestimate the Little Folk of the Shire.”

“Thank you, Master Elf. I trust he will be in safe hands, as I once was.”

They smiled at the shared memories of stuffing dwarves in barrels of apples. 

“Farewell, little Hobbit.” 

“And you, Master Elf.”


End file.
